You get down on your knees, settle into the grass with your thighs spread, and howl. The village women leave you to dress, nodding to each other- though there are still whispers between their bent heads, having seen the frightful shapes of the things that pressed against your belly. You look up, and up, and up. No- you will bring the wolf-king his children at your own, stolid pace, chafing fretfully at your arms and starting to shiver as the cool fall night caresses your bare skin. The next moon comes, and the next, and your blood does not.
See, that’s what the app is perfect for.
They pierce you with a silver ring, to ward off the evil, and the priest prays holy words over your swollen womb.
Your lover gasps and jerks his hips, coming in your ass on and your back. Sometimes you notice it getting larger even during the day. Your womb swells, filling up and up and up- the midwife in the village will not see you, turns away when you pass her by in the street at the market- but you know you are as big as a woman with two and three yet unborn.